


Morphine

by Tashilover



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Abuse, Angry!McCoy, Gen, Hurt!Jim, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The more McCoy tried to fight it, the more he wanted to help the stupid kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"I may throw up on you."

Honestly, McCoy wasn't sure what part of his conversation made the kid think in any way _that_ was an invitation to be friends. If someone had said that to him, he would've immediately paid the guy next to him to switch seats.

After all, he was a doctor and the kid was… well, a kid. A fresh faced cadet. Once they got off that transport, they'll go their separate ways, to their separate fields of study. It was highly unlikely they would ever see each again.

"Leonard McCoy."

The kid saluted him with his flask. "Jim," he returned, taking a short swing.

McCoy had no idea what he was in for.


	2. Chapter 2

"Why haven't you seen a campus doctor for that?"

Jim jerked at the sudden voice. The bruises from the bar fight were fading, leaving the kid's face a mass of different colors. But it wasn't the bruises that caught McCoy's attention, it was the kid's hand. "Eh, what?"

McCoy sat down in the chair next to him and pointed to the hand. "I can clearly see one of your knuckles are cracked."

"This?" Jim huffed. "This is nothing. It's just bad bruising. It'll go away in a few days"

"Don't be stupid. Go see a doctor."

McCoy was perplexed when the kid suddenly laughed. "Look, Bones, was it?"

"Leonard McCoy."

"Whatever. I'm fine. I don't need to see a doctor. This…this is nothing."

McCoy leaned back in his chair, giving the youth a disbelief look. Without another word, he jabbed Jim's hand with the buttend of his stylus.

Jim gave out a harsh hiss and jerked his hand away. "Nothing, huh?" McCoy said dryly. "You either go see a campus doctor or else I'll keep jabbing you until you do."

"Jeez," Jim moaned. "I thought doctors were suppose to have bed side manner."

"I'm not _your_ doctor. I can do anything I damn well wish."

 

()

 

Three days later McCoy found the young man sitting at the same table in the library. He was pleased to see the kid's hand was wrapped tightly.

McCoy readjusted his hold on his own books and walked over. Jim was hunched over, engrossed in his own studies. Large volumes of books were laid out all around him and every few moments Jim would reach over and open a new book, ever growing the pile around him.

" _The Physics of a Black Hole. Engineering of a Super-Hyperdronic Engine,"_ McCoy started reading the titles out loud. "That's pretty heavy reading for a first year cadet."

Jim looked up at the voice and immediately withdrew his bandaged hand. "Bones McCoy," he said. "Uh, yeah well, if I want to get into the Apprentice program, I have to pass the preliminaries first."

McCoy nearly blanched. "The Apprentice program? Isn't that… for officers who wish to become a Captain one day?"

Jim smirked into his book. "The one and only."

"How old are you, kid?"

"Twenty-two."

A skeptic chuckle forced its way through McCoy's lips. At the sound Jim threw him an offended look. "Sorry," the doctor said, though not really meaning it. "But the Apprentice program is usually taken by officers twice your age."

"What, you think young guys can't do it?"

"No offence, but I don't think _you_ can do it."

Jim tapped his stylus on his book several times before throwing it down and leaning back into his chair. He crossed his arms and glared at the doctor. "Don't underestimate me."

McCoy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He's used to the 'I'm Invincible' act from these youngsters. "You got into a bar fight before joining Starfleet."

"Hey, first of all, that wasn't my fault. And secondly…" Jim paused. "… it wasn't my fault. Besides, give me the benefit of the doubt, Bones."

McCoy didn't comment. Instead, his eyes lingered over Jim's wrapped hand, resting across his chest. McCoy looked closer and… "Why are your wrappings pale green?"

Jim looked down on his hand, blushed and shoved his arm out of McCoy's sight. "No reason."

McCoy eyes narrowed at him. "Let me see your hand."

When Jim doesn't respond, McCoy said again, "Let me see your hand," in his 'Or else I'll jam you with a hypo' tone of voice.

Jim silently passed over his hand, pouting sourly. McCoy grabbed the hand, ignored the slight flinch his action caused and inspected it over.

The application of the bandage, was to say the least, pretty decent. The kid's hand was wrapped tightly and soundly and should cause no discomfort for the injury. However, it was the green bandage that screamed 'not right.' "Is this… a _curtain?"_

Jim snatched his arm back. "Yeah, so?"

"You allowed some clod wrap your hand with a curtain?"

"No…" Jim tucked his hand away. "I did it myself."

McCoy blinked wildly at him. This kid wanted to become a captain yet believed performing medical treatment on himself was acceptable. "Are you an idiot?" The doctor hissed at him. "Do you know how badly you could damage your hand with your… do-it-yourself bull? You need a real doctor, with real _sterilized_ bandages-"

Son of a bitch. McCoy could see, literally see his words were falling on deaf ears. Jim wasn't ignoring him, but it was obvious he wasn't going to take McCoy's advice, no matter how he said it.

McCoy shook his head. "You know what, never mind. If you want to seriously injure yourself, that's your business. I did my job." He stood from the table. "But kid, what you're doing? It's not Captain attitude."

It was a stupid low blow and McCoy hadn't really expected it to affect the kid. Except Jim's lips got tight for a moment. The hurt expression was gone within a second later, a grin replacing it. "Duly noted."


	3. Chapter 3

The kid was limping.

For the past two weeks, McCoy had very little contact with Jim. They had similar classes, and they bumped into each other a lot in the library and cafeteria, but other than a mumbled 'excuse me,' there was no real interaction.

McCoy, to his own disbelief, found himself unable to keep his eyes off Jim. Call it a doctor's need to help, or over protectiveness- There was something about the young man that just screamed 'look at me!'

And today, the kid was limping.

The library was crowded and people scrambled to get the next available seat. As soon one person looked like they were getting ready to leave, there were four others waiting on the side, ready to spring.

From his peripheral, McCoy could see his neighbor packing her books and datapads. He tensed slightly as he felt the surrounding students ready to merge on the sudden free spot.

He actually heard someone yell "MINE!" the moment his neighbor left. He tried to ignore the huffs and grunts as people scrambled. A body flopped down on the vacated chair, a celebrated "Yes!" coming from his mouth.

McCoy turned to the person, glaring at him to shut up.

Jim's bright blue eyes stared back. "Uh, hi," he said uncomfortably.

McCoy only grumbled in response and went back to his own studies.

For the next couple of hours they sat in silence except for the occasional sound of a page turning. The crowd of students lessened by then and chairs became more available. McCoy briefly wondered if Jim was going to shift down a few spots to give himself a little space. He did nothing.

Not exactly cramped, McCoy doesn't move either.

Silence reigned for a while longer until… "Crap."

Jim raised his head. "Something wrong?"

McCoy doesn't look at him, only shook his head. "It's nothing. My datapad…" he shifted the little white thing in his hand, pressing buttons and tapping the screen. "It froze on me. Damn it to hell, this thing was _brand new…"_

Jim watched McCoy pathetically tinker with the pad for a few seconds. He sighed, leaned over and with hand outstretched said, "Give it here. Let me take a look at it."

McCoy protectively curled around his pad.

"C'mon," Jim wiggled his fingers. "It's already broken. Nothing I'll do won't hurt."

McCoy tried to think of the double-negatives in that sentence but gave the pad over anyways. Jim looked it over, pressed down on the same buttons as McCoy did. He frowned, considered his options and-

WHAM!

-slammed the pad down on the table.

McCoy nearly had a fit. "What hell are you doing?" He cried, reaching over and snatching the pad back.

"Fixed it," Jim said, sounding proud of himself.

"Wha-!" McCoy looked down. And indeed, the datapad was functioning again. Better- actually. For the past few days the screen was slowly dimming, making it hard to see what it was presenting. Now the text was bright and black and very easy to read.

"I don't like using that particular brand myself," Jim said, smirking at McCoy's befuddled features. "They use mercury to balance out the electronics, and although that means for longer battery life, it also has the tendency to condense, thus freezing all your applications. A quick whack once in a while will dislodge the mercury and your pad should work fine. Just don't hit it too hard. You might actually break it."

McCoy had NO idea what the kid just said beyond, 'Whacking it will make it work!' He was a doctor, not an engineer.

"Thanks," He said finally.

"No problem," Jim nodded. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm sick of the library now. I think I'll leave the rest of this for tomorrow. Night."

"Night. Thanks again."

Jim waved him off and stood from his seat. McCoy noticed the slight flinch in the kid's features as he stood. He also noticed the tremble in the kid's legs and he was out of his seat the second before Jim's knees collapsed underneath themselves.

"I gotcha," McCoy grunted, as he lowered Jim back down on the chair.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow," Jim grunted, leaning over himself. "Cramps. That's what I get for sitting down for so long." He gave McCoy a pained smiled as he rubbed his muscles.

McCoy almost believed him. He too had been sitting down for a while and he could feel his own muscles throbbing from lack of movement. But the soft memory of seeing Jim earlier that day surfaced. The memory of Jim limping into the library.

"Whoa, hey-!" McCoy ignored the boy's yelp, grabbed his ankle and lifted up his pants leg.

The ankle was a mess of blue and black bruising. The bruises didn't end at the ankle, but trailed up further around Jim's calf. If the bruises had ended at the ankle, McCoy would've thought it was just a very bad sprain.

If Jim hadn't lied about the cramps, McCoy would've believed him.

"Seriously, Bones. _Boundaries,"_ Jim tugged his leg away and smoothed out his pants.

"Why the hell did you lie about the cramps?"

Jim stiffened for a quick second. If he hadn't been paying attention, McCoy would've missed the way the kid's face pinched ever so slightly before relaxing into that calm demeanor of his. "I didn't," Jim told him. "We've been here for, what? Five hours? FYI, cramps can totally occur in that timeframe. Also, I need to use the bathroom."

"You collapsed because your ankle swelled-"

"I didn't _collapse-"_

"Jesus Christ!" McCoy exploded, surging to his feet. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but injuries like these need to be checked out! The school's medical building is only ten minutes from here. C'mon, I'll walk you there-"

McCoy leaned down to help Jim back on his feet. The kid practically sprung from his seat, twirled away from McCoy's arm. The movement was awkward and Jim hobbled a couple of feet away, leaning heavily on his good leg. "Look," he huffed. "One: I wasn't lying about needing to use the bathroom. I really have to go. And two: I don't have time to go see a doctor. I got a test tomorrow. I need to get back to my dorm. I'll put ice on this puppy, so don't worry."

"It needs to be wrapped-"

" _I'll_ wrap it. I used to play basketball in high school, I know how to wrap my injuries."

That sounded plausible. Many athletes were very educated on how to wrap their own knees or arms. But what bothered McCoy, still, was that the kid lied in the first place. The way he was standing now, it wasn't because of his muscles, it was because of his ankle. It was because the bruises reached over his ankle. Why did he feel the need to lie?

McCoy was going to find out. "Jim-"

"Excuse me," At the voice, both men turned to stare at a young girl. "The library is closing. If you want to use the overnight studying session rooms, you need to give me your library card-"

"No need," Jim said, grabbing his bag. "I'm leaving right now. See ya, Bones."

McCoy rushed forward, to grab him and demand what the hell was going on-

"Sir! Your belongings."

Shit, he forgot his work. McCoy quickly went back to the table, shoved his books into his bag and turned around. Jim was nowhere in sight.

The doctor sighed. For an injured guy, he could move pretty fast.


	4. Chapter 4

McCoy never wanted to kill himself so much like he did at that moment. It was pure, utter torture. He glanced to his right, the girl sitting next to him held the same desperate face. She slumped forward, shaking her head in her arms. McCoy looked forward again.

Dear god, was that man _boring._

Professor Norris had the reputation of possibly being the dullest man alive. His face was bland, his voice was bland, and since his lectures were brutally _long,_ everyone on campus dreaded his class.

The young alien boy to McCoy's right leaned over and asked, "Hey, if I hit myself repeatedly in the head until I am unconscious, will you be able to revive me?"

McCoy leaned heavily into his hand, his head too heavy for his neck. "Considering your anatomy, probably not."

The alien boy shrugged. "Eh, probably be worth it."

In the stretch of the last five minutes, people were squirming in their seats. Even McCoy felt the unearthy need to run away very fast, his leg bouncing impatiently.

Professor Norris looked down at his watch. "Hmm… well, I think that's it for to-"

People scrambled. Books slammed shut, zippers zipped, datapads were shut off with loud _blips._ And as if the devil were on their tails, people all but ran from that classroom.

McCoy stretched his arms above his head, arched in his chair and heard his bones crack. It hurt, in a good way. He was waiting for the crowd to disperse so he may leave without bumping elbows and knees.

Slowly and surely the lecture hall emptied, leaving only a handful behind. There was a girl in the corner who was taking her time to pack her things. There were three other cadets waiting to follow Norris out the door to his office to talk. There was a boy sitting idly by while his friend finished one last thing. And there-

Oh, for pete's sakes.

It surprised McCoy a bit how easily he zeroed in on the kid. Jim was sitting quite a couple of rows away, his head in his arms, seemingly to be asleep. How McCoy managed to identify him from only the top of his head and back, he will never know.

He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, turning to leave. The girl in the corner had already ducked out the door, leaving only the doctor and Jim in the lecture hall.

McCoy intended to follow; he had homework to do, after all.

He didn't move.

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and turned back. "Bloody hell…" he stomped his way towards the snoozing cadet, making his steps intentionally loud in hopes that Jim would wake up on his own accord. It did nothing as McCoy found himself towering over him.

"Kid, wake up."

No response.

"Wake up," McCoy jostled his arm.

Still no response.

He considered kicking him. Instead, McCoy decided on a light slap on the cheek. If that didn't work, then either the kid was dead or he was blatantly ignoring him. It better not be the latter. "Hey, wake up," McCoy commanded, tapping his fingers against Jim's cheek.

He frowned. That felt rather warm. Jim had yet to respond and McCoy took that as a sign to curl his hand around his forehead.

He nearly jerked his hand back in surprise. The heat radiating from Jim's forehead could light a match. "Hey!" McCoy wasn't so gentle now, shaking his shoulder roughly. "Wake up!"

Jim garbled awake. "Uh, what?" Red, bleary eyes blinked wildly. "Oh no," he hissed, looking around the empty room. "Did I sleep through the whole lecture?"

"Judging from how hot your forehead is, you probably fainted."

"Aw, crap, it's you again."

"Yeah, it's me," McCoy sneered. "I guess it's pointless for me to tell you you need to go to the hospital."

"Yeah, pretty pointless."

"Then go back to your dorm," he snapped. He turned to leave. "Eat chicken soup, sleep, and don't come to class and give your cold to everyone, you idiot."

McCoy only got perhaps a few steps towards the door when a loud _fwump!_ echoed behind him. Slowly he looked back to see Jim struggling to his feet. "I'm fine," he wheezed, holding himself up on weak legs. "I'm- oh crap."

He could literally see vertigo overtaking the kid. Jim's body tilted dangerously to the right, his arms flaying out to grab onto something. He missed grabbing the desk by a mile and slammed into the carpeted floor with another muted _thud._

McCoy pursed his lips and waited.

"Um…" Came the voice from the ground. "I wouldn't disagree to some help."

"Idiot," McCoy muttered, making his way over. Jim had managed to push himself onto his back. One hand was clutching his forehead, his face pinched in pain or nausea. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "Just as soon as the room stops spinning, I'll be fine."

"C'mon," McCoy readjusted his bag on his shoulder and kneeled down. He grasped the kid under his arms and in one swift move, lifted him to his feet.

"Thanks," he said and tried to take a step forward.

"Dammit, Jim," McCoy grunted as Jim nearly took another nose dive. He shifted his grasp on the heavy body. "We're going to the hospital."

"No. no, wait…"

"No arguments," he growled. "Besides, you don't have the strength to fight me. You're going even I have to drag your sorry behind all the way there."

"Look, can't you just take me to my dorm? Like you said, I'll eat some chicken soup, sleep for a couple of days-"

"Shut up."

"No, no, seriously," Jim tugged on his would-be helper. "You don't understand. I have the immunity of a newborn. I'm allergic to everything. The moment you bring me through those hospital doors, I can guarantee you some doctor will accidentally kill me. _Death-by-hypo_ is not how I wish to go."

McCoy slowed in his walk, his lips pursing during Jim's whole rant. He sighed frustrated. "You're not going to stop talking, are you?"

He smirked. "Part of my charm."

The doctor had an inkling that he was going to regret this, except the dorms was right across the street while the campus hospital was clear across campus… "Fine," he muttered, readjusting his grip on the kid's arm. "Where's your dorm?"

 

 

 

"You can't expect me to believe you actually live here."

Jim made a face. "Huh, why?"

"It's too clean."

Unnaturally clean, McCoy noted as he dragged the boy in his arms across the floor. No discarded socks on the ground, no pizza boxes piling up in a corner, no Playboys sticking out in from underneath the bed. There were plenty of books and datapads spread across a desk, but other than that, the room was spotless. Even the beds were made. "It doesn't look like anyone lives here."

"I find your lack of faith disturbing," Jim groaned as McCoy lowered him to his bed. Jim had just enough energy to position himself more comfortably on the bed, throwing an arm across his eyes. "Thanks," he said. "I'll walk you to the door but, y'know, it kinda ruins the whole point."

"Where's your roommate?"

"At his girlfriend's. He practically lives there. I think he only comes here to change clothes."

The empty room looked foreign and uninviting. It was hard enough to believe that two young men live here, and even though McCoy knew it was ridiculous, he couldn't help but feel as if he was abandoning the kid. Nobody was here, nobody was _going_ to be here, and there was a sinking sensation if Jim suddenly dropped dead on the floor, nobody was going to find his corpse till days later.

McCoy had to shake his own head at that thought. Now that was toeing the line of paranoia. He should seriously leave now before he decided to do something stupid. "Look, can I call your girlfriend to tell her about your health? You shouldn't be left alone."

"Don't have one."

"Okay… is there a friend I can get in contact with?"

"Not really, no."

McCoy felt his annoyance level rise. "Is there _anybody_ I can call?"

"Nope," Jim raised his arm a bit, his blue eye peeking out. "Seriously though, I'm fine. I just need to sleep. Go, don't worry about me."

"Somehow your reassurances don't convince me. Do you realize every time I've met you, you're worse than before?"

"Holy crap, you're cursed!"

That actually got a short chuckle out of the doctor. He sobered quickly, shaking his head in disbelief. "Look, I can't force you to see a doctor, but it's my _professional opinion_ that you see one."

"Duly noted."

Jesus Christ, why does he even bother? McCoy fought the urge to roll his eyes and turned towards the door. He had another class in twenty minutes and Professor Jones didn't like late-comers.

He casually glanced at the desk, the messiest thing in the room, silently observing the contents. A couple of open books, pens, pencils, data disks, old homework, an ID card, a ball of rubberbands-

It was the ID card that grabbed his attention. If it wasn't the name, then certainly the picture would've made him double-back. The kid was posing. _Posing._ One hand was formed into a peace sign while Jim gave the camera a flirtatious wink. McCoy had no idea how this photo got past regulations.

It was the name, however, that stunned him. "James T. Kirk? _You're_ James Kirk?"

Jim grunted. "That's me."

"The son of George Kirk? The Captain of the USS Kelvin?"

Another grunt. "The one and only. What, do you want an autograph or something?"

"No, just surprised," McCoy said, frowning. He put down the ID. "You're honestly telling me I can't call somebody for you?"

"That's the problem with being a celebrity, Bones," Jim chuckled weakly. "The moment they find out who you are, they always want a piece of you. Trust me, the less people who know who I am, the less crap I get." He let out a slow breath as he turned onto his side, and curled up into a ball. "I'd appreciate it if you kept my real name on the down load."

McCoy wasn't sure how to respond to that. It wasn't like he was star struck (far from it) but he couldn't help but be stunned that _James T. Kirk_ is the same little punk who'd gotten into a bar fight one day before joining Starfleet. After all, who hadn't heard the incredible tragic story of the USS Kelvin, and of the child who immediately lost his father five seconds after he was born? "Yeah, sure," is all he could really say.

"Thanks," the kid said, snuggling closer to his pillow. "And thanks for not leaving me on the floor back there."

"You know how you can really thank me? Go see a doctor."

"Wow, going Christmas shopping for you must suck."

"Don't make me regret my decision," McCoy growled, though slightly amused. He had to admit, the kid was funny. "If you die, I'm going to be very angry."

Jim smirked. "Gotcha."


	5. Chapter 5

McCoy stared at the phaser in his hand, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably against the armor strapped against his chest. He knew such exercises were necessary, but as a doctor, taking violence against another- even in self defense- went against everything he's ever known.  _Do no harm_ and all that.

God, he felt disgustingly old.

The other, younger, cadets were mulling around him, talking up an excited storm. Some were eager to a point where they were dancing on their toes; while others were all smiles and nervous giggles. There were also a few who were taking bets and they huddled together, swapping credits and whispering names.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and McCoy peered over and frowned. "I can't believe I have to do this."

Dennis cocked his head. "What, it'll be fun!"

"Not my idea of fun," he muttered. He was tapping his gauntlet, suddenly very aware of an itch festering under the armor.

"Calm down, I have your back."

When joining Starfleet, there were certain requirements  _all_ members have to complete. As a doctor, McCoy wasn't pushed like the others to perfect these requirements, but he did have to pass them. He'd been dreading this particular exercise for a while.

The phaser's defaults were set to stun, and the armor wasn't really designed to prevent injuries but to monitor the person's heart and adrenaline levels. The war game, as it were, was to test how a cadet acted under extreme hostility.

The rules were basic: one side blue, the other red. Capture the flag, kill as many enemies as you can and don't die.

McCoy knew the worst injuries taken from exercises like these were bruises and maybe the occasional broken bone, except the tacked on 'don't die' made his stomach clench. He glanced over to Dennis, who, like the others, was all smiles and eager energy. "You don't seem nervous."

"After spending so much time this semester sitting down and studying, I'm stoked to get out there," he hissed happily.

High above, a loud whistle was blown, signaling the start of the exercise. The excited voices reached to a pitch then quieted as the colored teams went to their designated starting points. McCoy was on the blue team and he mutely followed his group and his classmate Dennis to the starting point.

Another loud whistle was blown and the area for the exercise opened up to them. The blue team entered slowly, immediately checking around corners and holding out their phasers. The walls were built rather high and from where McCoy could see, there were ramps and stairs and other various obstacles.

For the moment, the tension was thick and uneasy. It was still early in the game and nobody had ventured that far. It might be a good while before anyone saw anybody from the other team.

"Alright," Dennis suddenly spoke up, grabbing everyone's attention. "The red flag is located in the middle of the maze. If we're going to win this, we need to cooperate and work together. Now, what I want is three groups of five to take the right flank and-"

_Schoop-ziiiiip!_

A blinding flash of white light came out of nowhere and shot Dennis directly in the chest. It knocked him down flat on his back, unconscious. His chest armor gave a little short beep, declaring him 'dead.'

Then there was panic. Cadets ran for cover while random shots echoed high above their heads. There were some who were trying to take aim, but mostly people shot without even looking. Many hit their own teammates.

McCoy remembered what the training books said and did exactly it told him to do: Duck and hide. Can't fight back if you're too busy getting shot out in the open.

So he dodged, he weaved, and threw himself behind a wall. Eventually others too remembered their training and ran for it, but by then the floor was covered by unconscious blue team members.

_This is so stupid._

Oh yes, it was stupid but it was necessary and if he wanted to pass this requirement, he needed to 'stay alive' for at least half of the engagement. McCoy hugged the walls of the course, checked behind him every couple of steps to see if he was being followed. He was alone.

He suddenly jerked back when white light blew past his face and he quickly raised his own weapon. He shot twice in the offending direction, and watched as a red team member disappeared behind a corner, his shots missing completely. For a split second McCoy thought about perusing-

A phaser was placed against his cheek.

The green skinned alien smirked smugly. "Bye-bye, doc."

_Spppishtow!_

And then the green skinned alien went down.

McCoy took a step back, quite stunned. He looked up and saw Jim Kirk lowering his phaser. The kid was _fifty feet_ away and he was able to shoot an enemy with a single shot. Jesus Christ, McCoy thought dumbly.

Jim made his way towards the doctor, his eyes dashing around corners and behind him, his weapon at the ready. "Hey," he greeted. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," McCoy said, his mouth gaping a little. "Uh, you're not dying, are you?"

Jim cautiously looked around a corner. "What?"

"Because I thought every time I would see you, you would be worse off."

"Is that how you thank people for saving your ass? C'mon, Bones," he smirked, slapping the doc on the shoulder. "Let's go win this thing."

"How are we going to do that?" He asked, mimicking Jim's movements and hugged the walls. "We were slaughtered at the beginning. I don't think there's many of us left."

"Oh, ye of little faith. I have a plan."

Jim didn't bother to elaborate. In another time, in another place, McCoy would've demanded what the plan was, include him on it, but since this war game was way out of his field of expertise, he was more than content to follow.

There was just something about this kid.

McCoy followed in silence, keeping his head low and checking behind him often. They didn't encounter neither their teammates nor the enemy and this worried him. How long until this game was over?

At some point, Jim suddenly straightened from his defensive posture. "Jamie," he called out.

At the name, a small bodied, red haired girl sauntered from a corner, her arms over her chest. McCoy saw she was of the red team but since neither she or Jim were holding out their phasers, McCoy kept his at his side. "Jim," she greeted shortly. "Are you ready?"

"Of course I am," he smirked. "Are you?"

"Honestly? No. You do realize I'll probably be hated for this."

"You'll be fine. Bones, this is Jamie. Jamie, Bones."

The two individuals simply nodded their heads at each other. Jamie turned. "Follow me."

"What's going on?" McCoy hissed, thoroughly confused now.

"Jamie owes me a favor," Jim offered as he bent low, back in his defensive pose. "I'm just here to collect dues."

Up ahead there was noise of a phaser shooting. Jamie called them over and Jim and McCoy passed three unconscious red team members. "Isn't this cheating?"

Jim shrugged. "Probably. But right now, our team is too scattered for anyone to claim leadership and we're running out of time. Besides, there's nothing in the rule book that states I can't have a mole."

McCoy found he could not argue with that. He also really did not wish to get shot- waking from a phaser stun left horrible headaches.

Jamie held up her hand, halting the movements of both men. She peered around a wall and sighed. "There's about ten of them guarding the flag," she said. "I can probably stun about five of them before they realize what's happening, but not all."

Jim nodded. "Then stun those five. Bones, when I give the signal, run like hell and grab that flag."

Jamie ducked around the corner.

"What signal?"

Jim didn't answer as the sound of phasers, confused yells and curses floated into the air. There was a quick moment of silence, followed by, "Holy shit, what the hell was she thinking?" was when Jim sprung.

He flew around the corner, fired his weapon three times, screamed, "Come and get me, you bitches!" and ran for dear life in the other direction.

McCoy scooted back as three red members ran after the laughing cadet, shooting at him and missing.

Jamie was unconscious, her fellow betrayed teammates unconscious all around her. McCoy wondered briefly what the favor was, for Jamie to pull such a stunt. She wasn't going to be very popular once this was over.

He met no resistance other than stepping awkwardly over the fallen cadets. He ran up the steps, grabbed the flag and pulled it from its spot. High above, a loud whistle blew, and blue lights flashed erratically announcing who won.

Voices from everywhere rose in surprise and glee. McCoy stared at the flag in his hands, a bit stunned but nevertheless pleased. When he walked into this exercise, he didn't expect to last more than a few minutes and now here he was, holding the prize. "That kid…" he chuckled softly.

He stepped down the stairs lightly just as Jim emerged onto the scene. He was out of breath, smiling wildly and somehow lost the armor he was wearing only three minutes previously. "See? I told ya."

The kid's humor was contagious. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get cocky," McCoy said without any real sarcasm. "Did you stun the three that were chasing you?"

"I was able to stun one, but I lost the other two in the maze."

"How'd you lose your armor?"

"Oh, now that's an interesting tibit. You see, I was running and-"

Before McCoy even had a chance to open his mouth to yell, "JIM, LOOK OUT!" one of the red members that Jim 'lost' came running out of nowhere and tackled the kid.

Jim went down hard. McCoy could hear it. And that red member wasn't exactly skinny. He dropped the flag and ran over. "What the hell are you doing?" He demanded, pulling the red member off of the kid.

"Stopping him from getting the flag," the cadet frowned, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You idiot! You already lost! Jim? Jim, are you okay?"

Jim groaned and rolled over, his face pinched in pain. He was holding his left arm gingerly. "I'm fine," he said very unconvincingly.

 

 

 

So McCoy got his wish. Sorta.

There was no way in  _hell_ was he going to let Jim play off his broken arm as a 'sprain.' Even if Jim managed to lose the doctor in the aftermath of the exercise, the professors had already noted the injury and ordered him to go to the clinic on campus.

McCoy volunteered to take him, mostly to make sure Jim did go.

Yup, that arm was definitely broken. It only took five minutes to get to the clinic by transport, by then Jim's arm had swelled twice its size, the skin in various colors of blues, blacks and yellows. McCoy guessed the kid must've been in great pain because he'd been quiet the whole ride. This surprised him, since he'd gotten used to Jim's snarky humor and it was odd not to hear it now.

"Hey," McCoy nudged him softly with his shoulder. Jim sat on the hospital bed, his arm resting in a sling while they waited for a doctor. "You're being very quiet."

"My arm is broken," Jim muttered. "Sorry I'm not celebrating the fact."

"Jim, if you're afraid of hospitals, that's nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of people are."

"Who says I'm ashamed? And no, I'm not afraid."

"Then what?"

"James T. Kirk," a bright enthusiastic voice boomed. The door to the hospital room opened up, revealing a doctor only a couple of years younger than McCoy. Dr. Fred Reynolds, as the name tag said, had jet black hair, bright blue eyes and a cleft chin. "Hurt again, I see."

Jim merely shrugged.

Reynolds looked over to McCoy. "Hi, I'm Dr. Reynolds."

"Dr. Leonard McCoy," he reached out and shook his hand. "I'm, uh, Jim's friend."

"Really? So nice to meet one of James' friends, finally. So, let me see what we got here," he posted up Jim's x-ray, revealing the broken bone. "That fall must've been a tumble. As you can see, before we can apply a cast, we need to align the bone," he gave him a wary look. "This is going to be very painful for you, James."

"I understand," the kid said softly.

McCoy was confused. "Painful? What does that mean?"

Reynolds blinked at him, then glanced at Jim. The kid pursed his lips and said, "I've denied all forms of pain medication."

" _What?"_

"I can't risk another allergic reaction."

"Jim," McCoy couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I'm pretty sure you can't be allergic to  _all_ pain medication. Do you realize how painful this is going to be? They're going to force your bone back into alignment."

"Like I said, I understand that," Jim sighed.

"James," Reynolds stepped forward. "Do you  _want_ Dr. McCoy here?"

McCoy made a face at that. No, it was a reasonable question, except it was the way Reynolds had said it. The emphasis he placed on the word 'want.' There was a secret meaning behind that sentence and he wanted to know what.

Jim seemed to get the message because his eyes darken slightly. "No," he breathed. "I rather do this alone."

Reynolds nodded. "Alright, Dr. McCoy, please leave the room."

 

 

 

McCoy was not Jim's primary physician. They have every right to make him leave- by force, if necessary. But because he was a doctor- established, and under the order of Starfleet- they had no right to remove him from the building. Or the hallway for that matter.

He paced the hallway, half-tempted to force his way back into that room and demand what the hell was going on. Jim's withdrawal, the refusal of medication, asking him to leave…

All reasonable answers. Jim simply was afraid of the hospital and quite shamed that McCoy saw him.

Jim did not wish to risk an allergic reaction or believes the less medicine in his life, the better.

McCoy really did not know him. They were classmates, not friends.

"Bullshit," he said out loud, jerking his head to look at the closed door. Yeah, they didn't know each other very well. Sure, they've only met less than a handful of times. And McCoy was a doctor, thus obligated to help those who needed help- but that was not the point.

He was here. He wanted to be here. And he wasn't leaving until he knew the kid was okay.

The first scream that erupted from the room made him violently jerk to a sudden halt in his pacing. McCoy ran for the door, only to stop himself from pressing that open button. He curled his hand into a tight fist, fighting against that ingrained need to run in and help.

The next scream wasn't as unexpected, though still quite painful to hear. McCoy rested his head against the wall, screwing up his face as another scream pierced through the door, followed by a sob.

In all, the whole process took only about thirty seconds to do. McCoy knew those thirty seconds can feel like a lifetime.

The door finally slid opened and Reynolds came out. McCoy jumped on him. "How is he?"

"He's fine. The nurses are now prepping him for a cast. Is there anything else you need, Dr. McCoy?"

_Yeah, I want to know what kind of crap-doctor doesn't bother arguing against a patient for medication he obviously needs. Don't stand there looking so calm and collected when your patient just screamed his lungs out less than a minute ago._

_I don't trust you as far as I can throw you._

"No," he said. "Can I see him?"

"Of course." McCoy didn't bother to wait for him to move aside and bumped his shoulder on the way in.

Jim was laying on the hospital table while the nurse next to him wrapped his arm. His face was slightly red, his cheeks pinked with tears and obvious tiredness was in his eyes and yet, "So, what time do you get off?"

The nurse slyly smiled. "I think I'm too old for you." She was at least forty.

"Ooh, I like experienced women," his weary eyes casted over to McCoy. "Bones! I thought you left."

Now he was all smiles. What the hell just happened? "No, I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Nah, I'm okay. Embarrassed as hell that you heard me scream like a little girl, but relatively fine."

"If you didn't scream like a little girl, I would've assumed you were high on PCP and reported you to the campus police."

Jim made a face. "You know, I can't really tell if you're joking or serious."

The nurse patted his shoulder. "Give that a few minutes to dry while I'll get your discharge papers."

Once she left, McCoy grabbed Jim's file and rifled through it. "Hey, aren't you forbidden to look at that?" Jim protested.

"No," he lied. "I'm not allow to change anything but I have every right to look at it." He shifted through the papers. "God, you're allergic to a lot of things."

"It's a gift. Mostly a curse."

"A lot of things, but not everything," McCoy said, tossing the file down on the counter. "I can still think of at least thirty pain medications to give you that are not on your list. Oxycodone, vicodine,  _morphine,_ for god's sake!"

"And they're all highly addictive," Jim shook his head. "Bones, look, thanks for wanting to help me. But  _don't._ I don't need it. I can handle it."

The kid was young- too young to develop any affinity towards masochism. The pain was something he obviously would rather avoid. Even more, McCoy suddenly remembered from the file, there was nobody on Jim's emergency contact list. Of course, his father was dead, but his mother was still alive.

"Alone? No girlfriend, no friends, nobody to call if you fall ill or get hurt; Jim, you're a brilliant, bright kid. And it boggles me that the only one standing here, caring for your welfare is me! What about that girl, Jamie? Can she be called your friend? Would you allow her to see you in pain?"

"This isn't any of your business." Jim sounded more annoyed than offended at McCoy's insistency. "Seriously, just leave it."

"Is there a problem here?" Dr. Reynolds reappeared at the door, his eyebrow raised in suspicion. He glanced between the two, his eyes narrowing. "Dr. McCoy, I can see you're upsetting my patient. I'll have to ask you to leave."

_Go fuck yourself,_ is what he really wanted to say. He kept it in check though, gave one last look at Jim (he had diverted his gaze) and stalked out of the room.

From behind, he could hear Dr. Reynolds say, "Well, James, let's get these discharge papers signed."


	6. Chapter 6

 

In the days that followed the war exercise, McCoy found himself at the center of unwanted attention. Once word had spread that a doctor, a nearly forty year old doctor, had won the exercise, McCoy could not find a moment of peace.

Many praised him, stopping him in the hallway to shake his hand or to ask questions. Others called him cheat, while some just mourned the loss of their bets. In the beginning, it was flattering and McCoy took in stride. For about five seconds.

Soon he was snapping at any cadet who so much looked at him. He was tired of the questions, he was tired of the praise and ridicule. He was also tired of telling people he was only thirty-three. He wondered if Jim had let him win on purpose, not because it was of a tactical advantage, but because the Jim knew what would happen afterwards.

Speaking of which…

The kid was avoiding him. This McCoy knew. Oh sure, the campus was big, the students were many, and their past encounters have been exactly that- random encounters. But McCoy knew Jim was avoiding him.

If they happened to have the same class, Jim made a conscious effort to take the seat furthest away from him. If they happened to pass in the hall, Jim would suddenly find a detour so their paths wouldn't cross.

It would've been hilarious if it wasn't so ridiculous.

At any other time, at any other day, McCoy would've grabbed the young man, locked him in a room and demand answers. Unfortunately, as a doctor and a cadet, finding time to even  _think_ was proving difficult. Between classes and hours at the hospital, McCoy got perhaps, four hours a day to himself, most of which he spent studying.

Should he even bother to help someone, who obviously did not want help?

McCoy sighed and leaned back in his chair. He rubbed at his tired eyes. He wanted to spend at least another hour in the library, but he feared he wouldn't last ten minutes. The text in front of him blurred into black spots and he couldn't even remember the last sentence he read. With a scowl, he pushed away the book in front of him.

He needed coffee. Or a nice long nap. He gathered his belongings in a rather slow manner, not really thinking of any specifics. He slung his bag over his shoulder and turned to leave. His eyes wandered over to a woman studying near the reference area. He first initially ignored her, then his head snapped back at her, his eyes focusing on her face.

At first he thought it was because she was young and pretty and deserved a second look. McCoy took a step back, glancing over the girl again. It was Jamie.

He had heard of people's anger over the girl who had given up her own team, yet heard praises at the same time because no one else thought of it first. Jamie sat by her lonesome, scouring over some book. Physically, she looked fine.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Leonard," McCoy muttered to himself, urging his feet to move, to leave the library. He sighed. The necessity to know was too much and the doctor steered himself toward the cadet.

He sat down into the unoccupied chair next to Jamie, the action spurning the girl to raise her head up from her book to look at him. "Oh!" She said in recognition. "You're…uh… that guy Jim was with. Um, Bones, right?"

"Hello," McCoy greeted. He mentally cringed at the nickname. "I'm glad to see that you're alright. I was afraid of the backlash from the war exercise."

She chuckled softly. "To be honest, I was expecting worse. I've gotten a few angry stares and some of my teammates refuse to talk to me, but now it's been two weeks since and nobody really cares anymore."

McCoy nodded. He was glad to know Jim's actions did not totally destroy this girl's reputation. Speaking of whom… "So how's Jim? Is his arm better?"

Jamie shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't spoken to him since the exercise."

McCoy leaned back in his chair. He had his suspicions, but he hoped he was  _wrong._ "I thought you were his girlfriend."

Jamie blushed. She shook her head. "I like Jim, I do. But we're hardly friends. I mean, we have the same class together. But beyond that, we don't talk."

"Then… that favor you owed him…"

"What favor?" She smirked, confused at him. "Jim promised me ten credits for every team member I took down for him. And frankly, it was worth it."

 

 

 

Ben was a young boy, barely thirteen years old when McCoy first met him. The kid came into the hospital every couple of months, bearing odd bruises on his arms and legs. His mother said it was because Ben was accident prone. McCoy claimed otherwise.

He called child protective services and they made an inquiry. Unfortunately they couldn't prove the abuse, especially since Ben never admitted to it. But McCoy could see it in his eyes. The way Ben would flinch under a gentle touch, shy away from anyone who wanted to get close. And every time McCoy ever saw Ben, new bruises were on his skin.

Like Jim.

Except Jim wasn't a boy, he was a man. Physically active, and most likely socially inept. If Jim wanted to keep his bruises under whispers, that was his business.

Except McCoy wasn't an idiot.

Jim's aloofness, his fear of doctors, of hospitals, pointed to one thing. Reynolds was the most likely suspect. Perhaps it was a teacher or fellow student. But unless Jim admitted that someone was hurting him, legally, there was nothing McCoy could do.

 

 

 

The quad was filled with cadets, all standing neatly in rows. The sight of red was a bit over powering and McCoy had to wonder what idiot thought it would be good idea to wear such bright red uniforms.

Though those were thoughts for another time. Especially not during a funeral procession.

"And please bow your heads, as we send our prayers to those who were lost on that fateful day when the USS Kelvin was attacked."

McCoy bowed his head along with the dozens of attending cadets. He peered across the sea of red, wondering if he'd be able to pick Jim out of the crowd. Him and his family was mentioned more than once during the eulogy. It would only make sense he'd be here.

Of course, who would want to go to a memorial on their twenty-third birthday?

McCoy didn't spot him and he dropped his eyes as one professor scowled at him.

The procession ended a few minutes later and the cadets dispersed. McCoy rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little depressed. Classes for the rest of day were cancelled and he toyed with the idea of going to the library and catching up on some reading. He wasn't in the mood.

He needed a break.

He needed a drink.

It took him a while to find a bar that wasn't filled with young Starfleet cadets. This particular pub,  _The Winchester_ had a few, but not enough to create that atmosphere of youthful energy. He wasn't up to be surrounded by drunken kids. Not tonight.

He spent nearly two hours there, nursing only two glasses of whiskey. He liked to take his time with each sip, enjoying the burn and warmth with deliberate thought. He was here to enjoy the drink, not to drown in it.

Once he finished his second drink, he tossed down a few credits for the barkeep and turned to leave. He was nearly out the door when a loud, "HEY!" caught his attention.

McCoy turned around just in time to see an ape of man grab one of said cadets, raised one beefy fist and slammed it across the kid's face. There is a flash of blood and McCoy jerked at the sight of it. He was a doctor, not a fighter, but he wasn't about to stand there and allow some drunken asshole beat a fellow cadet.

He stepped forward. "Hey, leave-"

The kid was fast. Lightening fast- his arm suddenly whipped forward and slammed the heel of his palm into ape-man's nose. The sloppy noise of the  _crunch_ was horrifying to hear.

And then chaos happened. It was funny, really, how fast one fight between two people suddenly erupted into an all out bar brawl. People were screaming, tables were being knocked over, and McCoy threw up his hands when a bottle exploded on the wall next to his head. The cadet was now fighting off two more ape-men, presumably the first ape-man's friends. The cadet was handling himself impressively but it was still two against one.

A fist caught the cadet around the jaw, making him twist and falter. McCoy caught sight of his bloodied, bruised face. Jim.

Sweet Jesus Christ. Was McCoy really destined to meet the kid at every horrible situation he was in?

The side of Jim's face was streaming red and already one of his eyes was blacken shut. Blood oozed out of the side of his mouth while a deep cut throbbed painfully above his eyebrow. He staggered, grabbing onto the side of a table to keep his balance.

Ape-man raised his fist to hit him again. McCoy suddenly shot forward, grabbed a chair and threw it. He wasn't planning to fight- he only needed a distraction.

Ape-man One and ape-man Two dodged the chair, giving McCoy just enough time to grab Jim.

Jim almost jerked away from McCoy's touch. "Dammit, Jim, it's me! C'mon…"

Recognition was seen in Jim's eyes and he automatically sagged more comfortably against the doctor, allowing him to be dragged out of the bar.

 

 

 

"So…" McCoy began. He took several ice cubes out of his freezer and placed them in a kitchen rag. He wrapped them tightly and handed it over to Jim. "Mind telling me what that fight was about?"

Jim took the ice bag from him and placed it on his eye. "Nothing special. I called the guy ugly."

At McCoy's face, he added, "Well, he was!"

"Somehow, I don't think it was only that," McCoy drawled, digging out his first aid kit from the closet.

"So I said a few other things, but that doesn't mean I deserved being punched in the jaw." Jim muttered. He took the ice bag off his eye and stared at for a few moments before awkwardly putting it down. He started to rise from his seat. "Thanks for the, uh, ice. I better go-"

" _Sit down,"_ McCoy pointed at him. "You're not going anywhere until I treat those wounds of yours."

"Seriously, Bones-"

"You speak again and I'm jabbing you with a hypo. No joke."

Jim pursed his lips and fell silent. McCoy nearly winced. Threatening him with physical harm wasn't a great way to gain trust.

He sat in front of Jim and opened the first aid kit. "Your hand," he said softly.

Jim passed his hand over, palm faced up. McCoy raised an eyebrow at this and turned Jim's hand over, revealing the bloody, bruised knuckles. As gently as he could, he dapped the knuckles with alcohol.

Despite McCoy's earlier threat, Jim muttered, "Y'know, I could do this at my dorm."

"You're intoxicated," McCoy growled. He began to tape the knuckles. "And you were punched in face. Alcohol and brain trauma don't mix. I don't trust you to handle a toaster."

From Jim's knuckles, McCoy moved to the cut above his eyebrow. Jim hissed when McCoy applied alcohol, though he stopped protesting. The doctor supposed that was a good sign. "Is this how you wanted to celebrate your twenty-third birthday?"

"You think I should spend it  _mourning_?"

"No," he said and started to apply butterfly bandages. "But drinking alone isn't a lot of fun."

"You were alone."

"Yeah, but it's not my birthday. Open your mouth," he commanded.

Jim opened his jaw, wincing as he did. McCoy quickly looked over his teeth and touched the side of his jaw. "There's no damage," he determined. He got up and went to his cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of brown liquid and poured two glasses. He handed one over to Jim.

Jim took it. He raised an amused eyebrow. "I thought alcohol and medical treatment don't mix."

"It's Coke, you idiot. And I didn't give you any medication, so it's fine. Happy birthday kid," he saluted and took a short sip.

Jim did the same, though a bit more reluctantly.

McCoy licked his lips and considered the young man in front of him. He placed down his glass, crossed his arms and said, "Okay. I'm not one for this beating around the bush bullshit. So I'm going to ask you straight out: why is Reynolds hurting you?"

Jim sighed. Placed his glass down. "Thanks for the drink. It's time for me to leave." He stood and stalked towards the door.

"I don't know what kind of power that bastard has over you, but this needs to stop. Jim," McCoy stepped in front of the door, halting Jim's escape. "I can help you. But you need to let me help you. Tell me what's going on."

"Nothing is going on.  _Nothing._ I understand, that as a doctor, you want to help, but you're jumping at shadows. Leave it be."

"I've been a doctor for nearly fifteen years, kid," McCoy moved into his space, to force Jim to look at him in the eye. "Don't you think I recognize the signs of abuse when I see it?"

There, he said it out loud.

Jim's lips went thin. He struggled to keep his breathing leveled. "There's nothing you can do about this."

"Why?"

"Because he'll ruin me," Jim finally stared at him in the eyes. "He'll ruin you too, if you get involved."

"Reynolds."

Jim nodded. He swayed suddenly and McCoy rushed forward to keep him from toppling over. "Here, sit down," he eased Jim back down on the chair. Picked up the ice bag and replaced it on his face. "I'm not going to give you any medication because of the alcohol, but… the refusal of medication. Did you consent to that?"

Jim slowly shook his head. "No."

"Reynolds just doesn't want to give you any."

"It was only because you were there in the room, he acted a lot more… civil."

McCoy had to wipe his mouth, feeling suddenly disgusted. Abusing that kind of power was not only highly illegal, but also  _very_  physically and psychologically damaging. "Is that why you don't want to go to the hospital? Because you know Reynolds will hurt you. Or make it worse," McCoy added on, suddenly remembering the odd bruises on Jim's leg a few months back.

"Yes."

" _Why?"_

Jim spread out his arms, presenting himself. "Because I'm James T. Kirk."

McCoy had to shake his head at that. "Wait, I don't understand-"

"There are people," Jim interrupted. "who believe if George Kirk gave the evacuation call one minute earlier, a lot more lives could've been saved. Including Reynold's parents."

McCoy had to balk at that. "You're telling me… that this asshole is hurting you because of something your  _dead father_ did over twenty years ago?"

"Yes."

"But that's… that's…" he struggled to find the right word. " _Stupid!"_

"I don't understand it, either," Jim muttered. He touched his sore lip and winced. "Hatred by association."

"Your father died a hero."

"You try telling that to a ten year old who suddenly lost both of his parents. It's not easy to get over that kind of trauma."

"Don't defend him," McCoy nearly snapped. "You had nothing to do with that. Which brings up a bigger question: why are you allowing him to do this to you? What leverage does he have over you?"

"He's my primary physician," Jim drawled. "He has access to my medical files, my psychological files; all I need is a black mark on any of those two and Starfleet will keep me as a janitor for the rest of my career. As long as I endure his brand of care, he won't touch my records."

McCoy leaned back into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd expected Reynolds to be an asshole, sure, but to go so far to threaten Jim by falsifying information on his records… it was no damn wonder Jim had kept his mouth shut of the whole ordeal. "Is that why you have no friends?"

Jim's lips quirked slightly. "Friends notice when something's off."

McCoy smirked back. " _I_ noticed."

Jim closed his eyes. McCoy wondered what the school year must've been for him, unable to talk to people, to engage in relationships. McCoy didn't have any real friends here at the academy, but he at least had people to talk to. Peers he could confide in.

Jim shook his head. The pained expression that crossed his face was almost heartbreaking. "No. I refuse. I won't risk your career too."

"But it's okay for you to risk your health because of some sick bastard's vendetta? Jim, he might just ruin your career for the fun of it. He'll  _cripple you_!"

"I am aware of that."

McCoy nearly had a fit. Was Jim deliberately being obtrusive? "What the hell is with this martyr idealism? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Jim stood, tossed down the ice bag. "You're not a Starfleet doctor," he said plainly. "Reynolds is. Here, his word goes. All it'll take, Bones, is a bad recommendation."

"All it'll take, Jim, is the wrong hypo."

The kid glared at him. "He won't kill me."

"You sure about that?"

McCoy wasn't about to give Jim not one damn  _inch._ He understood Jim's fears, but they were unfounded. McCoy had spent enough time with bruised children, battered women, to know it was usually the smart ones you had to look out for. The smart ones always reasoned their way around the abuse. They knew it wasn't okay, but they thought it was necessary in the long run.

"Jim," McCoy said gently, placing his hand on his shoulder. Jim nearly flinched at the contact. He didn't pull away though. "Let me help you."


	7. Chapter 7

Jim said no.

The kid said some other crap like, not wanting to make waves, it wasn't that bad, but McCoy was too damn stunned to really listen to his bull. Jim then muttered a brief thanks for the ice and coke and limped out of McCoy's apartment.

McCoy slumped down on his couch, rubbing at the emerging headache. Oh yes, it certainly was the smart ones you had to look out for.

Without Jim's cooperation, there was nothing McCoy could do to help. He had no evidence, and his word was against Reynolds'.

At least he got Jim to admit to the abuse. That was something, right? Who knows, maybe with a little more effort, more gentle pushing, McCoy could convince Jim to take action against Reynolds. It only took McCoy half a year to get to this point. Who knows what'll happen in another six months.

Bullshit, McCoy decided, slamming his fist down on his coffee table. Complete and utter bullshit.

 

 

 

McCoy stared hard at Reynolds' PhD degree hanging on the wall. He had to fight the urge to rip down the frame and smash it into a million pieces on the ground.

He turned when the sound of the door opened. "Dr. Reynolds," he greeted politely.

Reynolds jerked in surprise. "Dr. McCoy," he breathed, confused. "I have to say, I wasn't expecting anybody today. Did I forget an appointment?"

"No, I came here all on my own."

"Ah," Reynolds made his way around McCoy to sit down behind his large desk. McCoy sat down in the chairs in front. "May I offer you coffee? Tea?"

"No thank you, I won't be here long."

"Alright then," Reynolds adjusted his seat so he may face McCoy better. Chin on his hands, a small smile on his lips, he asked, "So, what do I owe the honor?"

Calmly, McCoy stated, "I want you to keep your goddamn hands off Jim Kirk."

The smile slowly melted off. "What?"

"I said, I want you to keep your god _damn_  hands off Jim Kirk."

Reynolds' tone got defensive. "Dr. McCoy, I'm not sure-"

McCoy pulled out his datapad from his coat and slapped it down in front of Reynolds. Jim's medical records were displayed. "There's nothing on his records that states the refusal of medication."

"You have no right-"

"Jim gave me the right. He came to me and gave me permission. Ever heard of that word, Reynolds? Permission?"

His eyes narrowed. "I have no idea what you're ensuing."

"Sure you don't," McCoy sneered. He leaned forward and snatched back the datapad. He stood. "This, this thing you're doing? It's sick. It's petty. And the fact that you're abusing your power as a physician is a heinous crime."

Reynolds slapped his hands down on the desk and stood up violently.  _"Me,_ Dr. McCoy? I'm abusing my power? I should have you arrested for even having that information in your hands."

"Then have me arrested, and I'll tell campus police  _exactly_ what I've seen you do. I'm sure the Board would love to know why you deny your patient adequate pain medication."

It was an empty threat. Without Jim, McCoy was swatting at flies. He just needed Reynolds to believe that BS.

Reynolds glared at him but said nothing. McCoy knew he got him. He straightened up and placed away his datapad. "If I see so much as a  _bruise_ on that kid, I will take you down."

 

 

 

Jim kept his distance over the next couple of days. That was fine. McCoy hadn't really expected for Jim to carry on his obscure friendship with him. McCoy did, however, keep a close eye on him, making sure Reynolds tried nothing.

So far, so good. Jim looked healthy, and McCoy wasn't slapped with a summons. It felt so wrong to keep a sadist in power and McCoy wished he could tell the Board of Directors what was going on, but without hardcore evidence, all he would be doing is causing Jim more pain. Even worse, it was likely they would lose, and both he and Jim would be kicked out.

But just in case.

The moment McCoy sat down, Jim suddenly made movements to leave. "Give me a minute, okay? Sit back down kid."

Jim made a face, but grudgingly sat back down, setting his lunch tray down with a loud smack.

McCoy raised an eyebrow at this. "You're in a bad mood."

"Because it seems you can't take no for an answer," Jim snapped at him.

"Calm down, I'm not here for a fight."

"Then what are you here for?"

McCoy reached over and grasped Jim's wrist. Jim protested for a second and McCoy held strong, curling his fingers around Jim's pulse. "Has nothing out of the usual happened?"

"Wha-?" Jim blinked, then caught on. "I haven't seen Dr. Reynolds since my arm."

"That isn't what I asked."

"I'm not sick. I'm not injured. This," he snatched his arm back. "Is unnecessary. You should leave me alone."

McCoy peered around the cafeteria, eyeing the dozens and dozens of cadets eating and talking. "Look around you, Jim. Do you realize you're the only one here who is sitting by himself?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "I'm alone, not lonely."

"You're full of shit."

Jim threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Fine, I'm full of shit. What's your point, Bones?"

"That it doesn't have to be this way. You can have friends, and a doctor who'll help you."

Jim sighed and quickly swiped at his eyes. "Nice point," he said, standing up. "But if you really want to help me, you keep your distance." He took a step forward and swayed. He shot out an arm to keep his balance.

McCoy was out of his chair immediately. He forgot the cardinal rule with this kid: Every time they've met, Jim was in trouble. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Jim hissed, running a hand over his face. "Just got dizzy for a moment." He pulled away his hand and stared at it. Blood was running down his nose.

McCoy made him sit down and pressed his fingers against his neck. His pulse was going way too quickly. "Jesus," McCoy hissed and pressed a button on his medical datapad. Medical services were being called to his location.

Jim slumped slightly forward. "Jim," McCoy hissed, making him sit back up. "Stay awake. Listen to me. Did you eat or drink anything out of the unusual today?"

"No," Jim breathed. He was fighting hard against whatever was ailing him. "Just the cafeteria food…"

A quick look over Jim's half-finished lunch told McCoy nothing. "Are you allergic to any of the food?"

Jim made a face. "Why would I eat food that I am allergic to?"

McCoy ignored that. "Anything else? Did you take any medicine?"

"I-" He paused. "Had a flu shot today," he shook his head in denial. "I've had flu shots before… Not allergic…" He slumped forward.

"Dammit, Jim!" McCoy cried. He lowered Jim slowly onto the second unoccupied chair, ignoring the stares from the other cadets. He looked up, saw the medical team entering the cafeteria and motioned them over.

Jim had stopped breathing.

 

 

 

People often ask McCoy why he is so cynical. Truth be told, the real question they ask is,  _"Why does your bedside manner suck so bad?"_

His response usually followed:  _"Shut up and sleep."_

It's not that he was incapable of holding someone's hand or speaking to them in a soft tone. Sometimes with people, in order to get them to cooperate with him was to show an equal or greater amount of force. McCoy was kind when he needed to be. Most of the time, he needed to be an asshole.

Right now, as he stared at Jim's unmoving body, he didn't feel like being  _anything._

The kid was strapped to the usual machines. A heart monitor, an iv, and a tricorder hummed annoying above him, recording constant readings of his blood pressure and breathing.

The usual tests on Jim's blood came back negative. Despite he did not have the authority, McCoy ordered for deeper tests to be done to find out why the hell a healthy twenty-three year old had a heart attack in the middle of lunch.

Jim had mentioned he'd gotten a flu shot earlier that day. His files confirmed it, but those shots are given by the dozens, and by nurses, attendees and medical students. There is no way of knowing who personally gave Jim his shot.

This was bad. Even if Jim recovered from this, this could ruin his chances from  going into space.

McCoy sighed heavily and rechecked Jim's readings for the hundredth millionth time.

The noise of the door opening echoed behind him.

McCoy was not sure how he would react if he faced Reynolds again. He knew it'll happen sooner or later; he just hoped he was sober when it happened.

Nothing on Reynolds' face indicated he was surprised to see McCoy in Jim's room. "Dr. McCoy," Reynolds said friendly. "How are you?"

"You son of a  _bitch_ ," McCoy spat. He had no evidence, but damn him to hell if he let Reynolds anywhere near Jim. "Are you really that petty, that _pathetic_ _?_ "

"I have no idea what you're talking about, doctor. I think you should leave."

McCoy placed a protective hand over Jim. "I'm not letting you anywhere near him."

"Security," Reynolds casually said over his shoulder. "Please take McCoy out of here."

Two guards entered the room, flanking McCoy on each side. The doctor took an instinctive step back. There was no way he could fight them off.

"Come along, sir," one of the guards said gently. There was a tension in the guard's body, wanting McCoy to leave under his own power but wary through it all.

McCoy glanced down at Jim, then back up to Reynolds.

There was something in Reynolds' face. His eyes didn't twitch, he didn't grin. The way he kept so solemn, so unearthly still, his poker face gave more away than any other expression would.

Reynolds was going to kill Jim as soon as they left the room. McCoy knew that like he knew the sun was going to rise tomorrow.

McCoy turned to the guards. "Don't let him do this. He's going to kill the patient!"

They didn't listen. "Check his pockets!" McCoy struggled and the guards' grip tightened. They began dragging him out of the room. "Please! "

Ben's young face entered McCoy's mind. McCoy had no memory of the boy free of bruises. Ben's eye was always blackened in, his lip split opened, his cheek yellowing from old wounds. And there was always that  _look_ of hopelessness plastered on his face.

During their second meeting, for a second, Jim had let his guard down and that same look had echoed through. Whether McCoy consciously knew it or not, he never wanted to see that look on Jim's face ever again.

It was more than being a doctor, it was more than being a concerned humanitarian. Jim was McCoy's friend, and damn him to hell is he let something happen to that kid.

"Don't worry," McCoy hissed to the guard on his left. "I'm a doctor."

He then promptly lifted his leg and kicked in the guard's knee.

The poor guard gave an awful squeal. His hand loosened and McCoy jerked his arm out, swung the heel of his palm as hard as he could into the nose of the guard on his right. As he felt the delicate cartilage shatter under his hand, he mentally promised these two guys the best treatment he could give them. Later.

McCoy rushed back to the room. Reynolds jerked in surprise when he saw him. There was a hypo in his hand, hovering right above Jim's neck.

Reynolds actually has the nerve to say, "Don't-" right before McCoy tackled him.

Reynolds was taller, younger than McCoy, but that didn't stop the good doctor from biting, punching, kicking every piece of skin he could get his hands on. McCoy knew sooner or later other guards will come in, stun him, and drag him off to jail, but until then, he was determined to break Reynolds' arms so he would be incapable to give a hypo.

It happened sooner than McCoy thought it would. He heard clomping of boots clamoring into the room. A second later, he felt hands grabbing him and hauling him off. He struck his foot out, hoping to get one last kick in.

"Just what the  _hell_ is going on here?"

McCoy jerked his head up. He thought it was a commanding doctor, a nurse, maybe. He was disappointed to see just an old man standing in the doorway. Then McCoy's eyes casted down to the man's navy blue blazer, and focused on the gold Starfleet insignia pinned on his chest.

 _Captain_.

Holy crap.

"This man attacked me," Reynolds wheezed, getting up off the floor. McCoy was pleased to see he'd split the bastard's lip. "He is deranged and dangerous!"

"This so-called doctor is trying to kill the patient," McCoy stated firmly, slightly out of breath. "If you look at the hypo on the ground, I assure you it's filled with something that will kill Jim Kirk."

The Captain stared at McCoy, studied him hard for a long moment. McCoy was afraid the Captain will think him mad and ignored his accusation.

That didn't happen. Instead, the Captain stalked over to the fallen hypo, picked it up and addressed one of the guards, "Get this analyzed, please. I want to know what's in here immediately."

"Sir!" Reynolds protested. "You can't truly believe the words of this madman!"

"When I have all the evidence, I'll make an accurate assumption. Until then, I have questions. For starters: can someone tell me why a twenty-three year old would suddenly have a heart attack?"

 

 

 

"You're an idiot, you know."

Jim blinked, rubbed his tired eye. "B…ones?" he said weakly. "What's-?"

"Stop talking," McCoy ordered, shoving a glass of water in Jim's hands. "Drink this slowly."

For once, Jim did what McCoy said without arguing. The kid had been asleep for nearly three days; despite the IVs, his throat was probably parched. "Reynolds is no longer your acting doctor."

Jim jerked. "What?"

"Neither am I, if that's what you're thinking. Until the trial is over, you will be assigned a temporary doctor."

"I-what- trial? Bones," Jim set the glass down and tried to sit up. McCoy pushed him back down on the bed. "Just what hell is going on here?"

"I'm not the type of person to sugar coat things, Jim. So here it is: There's a very good chance you may never make it to a starship, let alone Captain." McCoy held up a hand when Jim started to rise again. "Reynolds tried to kill you. Do you hear me? There's no proof he was the one who sabotaged your flu shot, but the hypo he had in his hands would've caused your already weakened heart to fail. So right now, it's a matter of time to see if you're even fit enough to go under the stressful physical trials Starfleet requires. Then there's a matter with your mental health…"

"I am not mentally deranged," Jim hissed.

"Jim, you  _lied_ to me about being abused. You are brilliant, and smart, kid, but for months you allowed that  _idiot_ to practically cripple you… for what? Because you felt sorry for him? Because you think you deserve it?"

"I told you, he had power over my records. I couldn't risk that."

"Either way, it does not look favorably on you for keeping such a secret for so long, despite the reasons. I blame myself partly, because I should've told someone as soon as I knew. Instead, I pandered to your whims when I should've done what was right."

Despite the water, Jim's voice was still so very weak. "It was not your fault."

"It is my fault. Every time I saw you, Jim, you were hurt. I could've ended all of this bullshit on the very first day, but I thought I wasn't responsible for you. But guess what?" McCoy leaned close and spoke low. "I'm a doctor, I'm responsible for  _everybody_ in this damn academy, even you, despite who is, or who isn't your primary doctor."

McCoy allowed it that to sink in. He passed the moment to check on Jim's vitals (which he had done about ten times already) and reread the same stupid pamphlet that was left in the room by accident.

"What about you?" Jim asked after two minutes of silence. From his tone of voice, it sounded like this was what he was most afraid of. "How much trouble are you in?"

McCoy shrugged. "Some. While trying to save your life, I assaulted two security guards and bit Reynolds on the arm."

The look on Jim's face was priceless. He snorted. "What? Are you serious?"

"Very. Now they don't know if I should be charged with assault or let go on the grounds it was self-defense."

 

 

 

It wasn't the happy ending McCoy was hoping it to be. Still, it was better than he expected, and he supposed it was the best under the circumstances.

Reynolds was not fired. Despite Jim's and McCoy's testimony, the only real evidence they had against Reynolds was the hypo, which Reynolds swore was an accident. "I must've picked up the wrong one," he said on the stand.

Reynolds was reprimanded, demoted, and transferred to another academy. It was unlikely he and Jim would ever meet again, but McCoy chose to not place his faith in 'unlikely'.

For the assault on the guards and Reynolds, McCoy was suspended from Starfleet duties for two months and was forced to work the ER shifts with half-pay. The doctor made good on his promise to those guards, and soon both men were back on duty with very little evidence of injury.

As the victim in all of this, Jim was not charged with anything. But his mental and physical health was brought into question and it was debated if he should be medically discharged from Starfleet because of it.

The trial brought a lot of attention and those who knew Jim fought hard to keep him.

This had surprised him. "I didn't realize there were so many people supporting me."

McCoy clapped a hand to his shoulder. "Whether you know it or not, Jim, you have an energy that draws people to you. Don't ignore it."

It was decided Jim would stay in Starfleet, but be under probation for a length of a year. If Jim so much as sneezed the wrong way, he would be discharged. "Which is why you need a doctor who isn't willing to take your crap," McCoy huffed. He passed over Jim's medical file and tapped the signature at the bottom. "By signing this, I'll be your primary."

Jim grinned at him. "I don't know, Bones. You can be pretty mean yourself."

"Sign it or don't, either way, I'm going to be breathing down your neck to make sure you're okay."

"Has anybody told you your bedside manner sucks?"

"Just sign the damn thing, Jim."

And he did.

**End.**


End file.
